


Silence

by Trixylune



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, I don't even know if I should post this, Reader Insert, Yay college, first ever reader insert, first thing I've written in months, for imaginexhobbit, for two prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:20:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixylune/pseuds/Trixylune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble written for the imaginexhobbit blog on tumblr. Basically, a reader insert following these two imagines. </p>
<p>#1: Imagine the Company trying to talk to you even though you’ve taken a vow of silence.</p>
<p>#2: Imagine your first words during the entire journey being “Well, shit” after Smaug flees Erebor, and that being the moment everyone realizes you are a woman.</p>
<p>My first ever reader insert story, and the first thing I've written in months, so its a bit rough. >.> Written because my friend and I have challenged ourselves to write every day for the next year, and my daily goal is 2,000 words and I've always been a bit of an over achiever. Day One baby!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

“Gandalf,” you heard Bilbo murmur as he and Gandalf huddled in the entryway. The invading Company of dwarves were beginning to gather in the dining room, not appearing to lose any of their volume or energy despite being in the process of digging into what you were sure was the contents of more than one of Bilbo’s pantries. “I can’t go on an adventure. Disregarding the obvious arguments, I couldn’t leave Y/N here alone.”

 

“She would be welcome to come with us, of course,” Gandalf replied, voice low so it wouldn’t carry far. “She might even welcome being among her own kind again, though we would have to make a few accommodations for travel.”

 

“Accommodations?” Bilbo asked, oddly curious despite his insistence that they would not be going on any journey.

 

“Well, female dwarves always travel as males, for one,” Gandalf said, taking a brief moment of silence in which you were sure he was inhaling smoke from his pipe. “For protection and the like. She would have to get used to appearing as male. Of course, her silence would actually help with that. No pesky vocal tones to give her away.”

 

“Ah, Gandalf,” Bilbo began, but Gandalf continued talking. 

 

“Which reminds me, I bet she speaks Inglishmek,” Gandalf mused. “The sign language of the dwarves. I wonder if she considers speaking with her hands to go against her vow of silence?”

 

There was a longer pause, broken a few moments later by Bilbo.

 

“She could… speak with them?” he asked. His voice had lost its previous combativeness. Gandalf murmured something back, but you pushed off the wall and made your way back towards the dining room, having heard enough.

 

“Aye, lad,” a dwarf hailed, stopping in front of you. He had rather pretty silver hair, braided across his head, and smelled of tea rather than dust and sweat like the rest. “Would you happen to be able to point me to the wash room?”

 

You gestured with two fingers, ‘follow me’, before leading him down a few halls, leaving him at the door to the bath room. It was when you were returning that the final knock came on the door. “He’s here,” the elder, silver haired dwarf breathed. And in through the door of the hobbit hole came the rudest example of your race you had encountered yet, and those two brothers had come close with their disrespect towards Belladonna’s things. 

 

“And who is this?” he asked after insulting Bilbo on his own doorstep. His eyes were fixed on you. “Did you come to show your loyalty to the line of Durin and join our quest?”

 

Seeing that Bilbo was too shocked, and a little hurt, to respond properly, you stepped into a role that you had played since his childhood, when Belladonna Baggins had found you in the decimated remains of a merchant’s camp and brought you home to her family. His protector.

 

Your face remained stony as your fingers flew. ‘How could I show loyalty to one such as you, invading the home of peaceful folk with no warning, helping yourselves to their food and comforts while disrespecting their family heirlooms and insulting them when you’ve barely even stepped through the door? We opened our door to you, said nothing as our home was invaded, our rest destroyed, our treasures tossed around as if they were nothing but junk.’ You saw one of the younger dwarves put a plate down on the table from where he’d no doubt meant to toss it. ‘And yet we have shared our food and our drink, allowed this gathering despite the foreign displays of culture,’ here you nodded at Bilbo, ‘and I think I speak for both of us when I tell you to get. Out. Of. Our. Home.’

 

Each of the last words was punctuated with a shove until the stunned dwarf was backed through the door and the (now marred) green door was closed on his face. You turned so your back was against the wood, a bit stunned yourself that the first words you had exchanged with another being in several decades were an admonishment that would do Bilbo’s more Baggins relatives proud, only to see all of the other inhabitants of the hobbit hole staring at you with awe. Mostly you checked in with Bilbo though, knowing that he had taken after said Baggins relatives and may not see yelling at and ejecting a guest as the proper conduct. 

 

Instead he snorted. “Good riddance,” he said, and turned around to face the other dwarves. “Anyone else want to test the limits of our hospitality?” There was a general shaking of heads as the dwarves faded into the dining room, except for the elder who made his way outside to talk with their leader. 

Eventually, Thorin son of Thrain apologized (no matter how grudgingly) and was accepted inside again. Eventually the visiting dwarves settled in. Eventually you saw the look on Bilbo’s face when they sang their lovely dirge, and you were unsurprised when he woke you up in the morning to hurriedly pack and run after the group, the contract for his services trailing behind you like a banner.  
Eventually, after a few hours on pony back, another dwarf attempted to talk to you.

 

“So, lad,” the friendlier dwarf with the flappy hat began with a smile. “What brings you to live with the hobbits in the Shire?”

 

You raised an eyebrow at him, mouth firmly closed and hands resting comfortably on the reigns. 

 

“You seemed quite settled in,” he prodded. 

 

There was silence.

 

“Like part of the family,” he continued. Your lips quirked in a small smile, and you turned to eye Bilbo, who looked like the most awkward creature to ever climb upon a pony. When you turned back, the hatted dwarf was smiling wider. “Okay then,” he said, and proceeding to reintroduce himself (“Bofur, at your service tiny sir”) and the rest of his family, and explain why they were all on this quest. By the time you settled in for the night, you knew about his cousin’s injury, his brother’s wife and children, and his own growing interest in toy making, though “mining is my real passion”. 

 

While camp was being set up, you took Bilbo’s elbow and lead him into the woods. You were just beyond Bree, but the foliage was similar to the Shire’s and you were able to gather a goodly amount of edible plants and herbs to flavor dinner with. When you returned, Thorin growled a bit about ‘Disappearing hobbits and their kin’, and you simply offered the herbs to Bombur, whom you knew would be the cook tonight based on Bofur’s stories, and returned to your packs to set up your sleeping area. 

 

The next day, Bombur approached you and Bilbo as your rode silently side by side. “I was wondering if you could show me how to find the plants you gathered yesterday,” he offered quietly. “And maybe more about their usage in the Shire?” This started him and Bilbo off on a long tirade about cooking and proper spices, and how they were used among the two races, and when Bofur appeared at your other side you found yourself smiling at the company.

 

Amusingly enough, you knew that conversation must have been the first thing Bilbo thought of when the trolls began roasting the dwarves over the fire. “But you haven’t even seasoned them properly!” you heard Bilbo object. You wriggled a bit from where you were pinned under the brunette princeling, and elbowed him in annoyance when he began swearing at the hobbit. “Aren’t you bored of eating the same meat, raw, all the time? Now thyme, thats a good herb to spice up dwarf, and maybe a little rosemary and ginger….” 

 

His distraction allowed the wizard to break the rock so the sun turned the trolls to stone. “Are you alright Kee?” the blonde dwarf asked, helping the brunette up off of you and out of his bag. The two of them helped you stand, and untied the rope holding the sack closed. You glared and tried straightening out your beard, which while it was too short to hold decoration, as it was for most dwarrowdams, you made sure to keep clean and brushed. 

 

“You knew what he was up to from the start didn’t you?” the brunette asked you, sounding impressed. You gave him a dry look, and continued brushing the leaves and dirt out of your hair. 

 

You perked up when you heard mention that they’d found a cave though, and went sorting through it with the rest of them even though you heard Bilbo complaining about the troll-smell. It was worth it when you pulled out a few blades, noting that Gandalf had found some and was distributing the smallest to Bilbo. You wandered back outside, having lost interest in the possibility of gold in light of the newfound treasures. You’d gathered two sets of throwing knives, one set of three and one of five, as well as as a longer set of two daggers about the length of your forearm. The first set of three you bound to your left wrist with a strip of one of your spare shirts. The set of five went to your right thigh, and one of the long daggers to your right forearm. The other you put on your waist, so if you were searched it would look like you only carried one weapon. It felt good to be armed again, as you hadn’t been since your families caravan had been ambushed by orcs. The hobbits weren’t exactly warlike in countenance. 

 

You tested your draw with the knives, and were flipping one around and over your fingers when the red-head with the pointy hair appeared at your side. ”Nice find,” he praised, and you smirked, tossing it up and around in a trick throw you’d learned as a babe from your mother. He winked, and then there was the distraction of the brown wizard and running from the orcs and wargs. 

When you were greeted by Lord Elrond, who looked a bit condescending of your group, you wrinkled your nose. He didn’t ask if any of you were injured or anything, and seemed content to speak over you all with Gandalf, in a language you couldn’t speak at that. Quite rude, you thought, and nothing like you’d expected from Bilbo’s many stories. Bilbo must be so disappointed, you realized, and sure enough when you looked over he looked a bit put out. The greens were a relief though, after weeks of eating mostly game, and you found that only you and Bifur seemed to enjoy them. You shrugged. The more for you then. ‘How are the peas?’ he asked in khuzdul. You flashed him a thumbs up, the closest you’d gotten to speaking again since you’d evicted Thorin from Bag End. ‘Pass them please? Before the others toss them to the floor.’ Sure enough, after you’d dished out the peas, the others decided to start tearing apart the furniture. Only your plates and the few dishes closest to the two of you survived the carnage.

 

‘Thanks for the heads up,’ you signed tentatively, using the sign miners used to warn of an oncoming cave in. He grinned and the two of you settled off to the side, away from the fire, sharing the few bowls you’d managed to salvage.

 

It wasn’t long past Rivendell when you were caught showing Bilbo the basics of how to hold a sword. “What are you doing?” Dwalin asked gruffly, suddenly appearing behind the two of you. Bilbo squeaked and you glared up at him, knowing from previous conversations with Bofur (who still called you tiny sir) that the other dwarves found your lack of height, which was more in line with a hobbit than a dwarf, both adorable and non threatening. Sure enough Dwalin’s shoulders relaxed, his face following suit, and you glared harder. 

 

“Ah, Y/N is just showing me the basics of how to use a sword,” Bilbo offered, when it became clear that you weren’t going to say anything. Dwalin scoffed under his breath but stepped back, observing as you went back to showing Bilbo the proper grip, and then walking him through the basic block and thrust.

 

"That’s the Blacklock style," he said gruffly when you stepped back to watch Bilbo run through repetitions of the block and parry. You stiffened. "Incidentally, a family of Blacklocks was attacked several decades ago. Their caravan was found burned to a crisp, not three days ride from the Shire. They were some of the last of their line." The silence lengthened around the two of you, and you took a deep breath, centering yourself in the here and now so you wouldn’t get lost in memories of way back then. Dwalin simply nodded firmly to himself, and then stalked back the way he’d come. You shook off the spectre of your families memory and stepped forward to correct Bilbo’s footwork.

 

You were several weeks on the road and bored as hell. You had filched a book from Rivendell on the basics of Sindarin, and were reading it for perhaps the third time when an unfamiliar dwarf appeared at your arm. “You look very bored,” Ori observed timidly. You turned to face them, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. Ori flushed. “Only,” he stuttered. “I have a spare set of knitting needles if you want them?” You closed the book and tucked it away in your bag, using your hands to make a few motions. Ori watched your fingers intently for a moment before understanding dawned. “Crochet?” he guessed. You nodded. He happily dug through his saddle bags and offered you a medium gauge needle and some soft brown yarn. You grinned, tossed him a salute, and began stitching.

 

You’d reached the mountains a while after that, and you had finished two little crochet dogs, stuffed with bits of dried herbs you’d found on the roadside, and had them tucked away in your bag. You’d meant to give one to Ori as thanks, but hadn’t managed to find the time. Now it was thundering, and the mountains were moving, and all you heard was “STONE GIANTS!” before the very ground beneath you was moving. You lurched as the path divided beneath your feet, arms wind milling as you attempted to catch your balance. A hand gripped your elbow and pulled, and then you were pressed against the stone wall, a weight against your back. “You okay, lad?” Gloin asked gruffly into your ear, and you nodded. He moved away, and you continued. Later, after Bilbo had almost fallen and Thorin had saved his life, when you were making up camp in a cave in the mountainside, you found Gloin and offered him one of the stuffed dogs. He understood almost immediately. “For my Gimli,” he said, and a broad smile grew on his face. “Have I told you about him and my Lori? She’s the most beautiful dwarrowdam in Ered Luin, and she gifted me with a strong son. Stubborn as his mother, too!” He continued to speak about his family until you all settled down to sleep. You eyed Bilbo, who seemed restless, before you fell asleep. You woke to the ground once again dropping out from beneath you.

 

You quickly regained your feet, only to come face to face with a goblin’s spear. You looked around frantically for Bilbo, but couldn’t find him. The rest of the Company milled around you, all of them dazed and confused from the abrupt awakening and the long fall. The goblins prodded you along, and you finally caught sight of Bilbo crouching on the ground. You let out a sigh of relief, only to draw it in when you saw a goblin approach him from behind. Seconds later and you saw only his arms wind-milling, his eyes and mouth wide as he tumbled over the edge.

 

You screamed.

 

Arms wrapped around you, pulling you into the center of the other bodies, but you fought desperate to get out, to go see. He must still be clinging to the edge, you considered. Maybe he survived the fall, you thought next, with a vague hope. Your eyes continued to be fixed backwards even as you rounded a corner out of sight.

 

“Quiet lad,” Balin whispered into your hair, and only then did you realize that the old dwarf was actually carrying you. You became aware of the deep, crying gasps that were coming from your mouth, the jeers of the goblins surrounding you. You pressed your lips together to keep in any more sound. Later, after you’d bloodied your new blades in a cold, righteous fury and finally escaped the tunnels, Balin sat at your side in the wooded clearing.

 

“Vows of silence are an ancient, honored way to mourn those who are lost to us,” he said deeply. You swallowed, fixing your eyes on the ground. After another moment of silence, he got up and moved away.

 

Then Bilbo arrived, and his eyes fixed on you as you swept forward and grabbed him up into your arms. “It’s okay,” he muttered over and over. You realized you were crying again. When you finally released him, Thorin questioned his survival, but you were too happy to have him returned to you, as the rest of your family hadn’t been, to wonder at the specifics. Then there were orcs, and wargs, and you were helping Dori push Ori up into the trees before he boosted you up, and you were throwing burning pine cones, lighting up the ground. The trees toppled, and Thorin strode down the trunk, sword drawn, and you thought for one panicked moment ‘There goes my King’.

 

And Bilbo must be thinking the same thing because he went running down the trunk after him, stepping between Thorin and the white orc, and you found yourself following in his footsteps, others at your heels as you threw yourself and your blades into the orc closest to your brother-of-choice. You were aware only of flickering lights, twisted faces and the universal iron rich tang of blood until eagle claws closed around you and you were lifted into the air. 

 

Then you had to climb down a giant spire of rock, and there was a giant man in a giant house with the strangest animals who hated dwarves. And you slept.  
You woke to Oin handing you a tea. “For your throat,” he said loudly, and sure enough after making the first sound in decades your throat was burning. You sipped the tea, and when it was empty Dori quietly refilled your cup. 

 

Your borrowed ponies carried you to the edge of the woods, which were just as dark and menacing as you had been warned. The Company tried to lighten up the journey by sharing legends and tales of home, and Bilbo joined in with tales of the Shire. You slept at night curled around him, your one familiarity in that dark realm. The prisons were better, somehow. Lighter. Oddly enough, you felt freer than you had in the depths of the wood.

 

“It is a talisman,” you heard Kili tell the red-headed guard, and the obvious care of his mother, and in him, carrying the stone all this way, caught in your throat. You could see Fili across from you, leaning against the bars as he too listened to the conversation, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

 

And then Bilbo was there, and he managed to free you, and you were tumbling down the river in barrels, fighting as you went. You lost a few of your throwing knives in the bodies of orcs that tumbled into the river, though the others tossed them back to you when they could. 

 

You washed up on the bank and sat down to calm your stomach, finding yourself leaning against someone and not caring who it was as long as they didn’t move. Eventually you looked up to see Bombur sitting like a rock, looking just as pale as you felt. 

 

You caught a boat to lake town, and ended up accepting the Master’s… generosity. Despite the few extra rooms, you all found yourselves camping together in the larger living room, moving furniture so that the center floor was open for the pile of blankets and mattresses. 

 

“We’re almost there,” you heard Fili whisper. You could vaguely see his hand reach out, and Kili’s grab hold. 

 

And Bilbo found the hidden door, and you found yourself surrounded by the brother’s Ri, all standing as still and silent as you. Bilbo grinned, the way he had whenever he was trying to be brave, and disappeared into the mountain. You quivered on your feet, unable to sit as some had. Dwalin clasped your shoulder, and the mountain shook, sending you all scrambling through the door.

 

There was a plan, and it worked, and you watched Smaug go under the flood of liquid gold and felt a wave of elation come over you. You had done it. The dragon was defeated, and Erebor was—-

 

Smaug burst out the gold, rumbled a threat to Laketown that you didn’t really hear over the roaring in your own head, and flew through the gates.  
The words formed first in your head, and without thinking you felt them rise through your chest and out of your mouth.

 

“Well, shit,” you said, the words rather loud in the silence of everyone else.  
You startled for a second, unused to the sound of your own voice, hoarse as it may be. The rest of the Company turned to stare at you. 

 

“You’re a girl,” Ori said, uncertainly. He paused, as if waiting to be rebuked. When no such objection came, he repeated it, firmly. “You’re a girl!”

 

“Vestri,” you introduced yourself. “Daughter of Austri and Vigg.”

 

Dwalin, of all people, began to sputter. 

 

“You’re really a lass?” Dori asked, looking shocked.

 

You nodded out of habit.

 

“Mahal,” Nori breathed. 

 

There was a moment of utter silence, and every eye was still on you.

 

“There is a dragon razing Lake Town right now,” you pointed out, and everyone shook off the shock and raced to the top of the mountain. The whole of the Company held vigil as Smaug roasted Lake Town, and you sent prayers to Mahal, your maker, for Fili and Kili and Bofur and Oin who were still in the floating city. But soon enough the dragon fell from the sky into the lake, and you all ended up trudging back into the mountain, looking around in almost a stupor. You could hardly believe that the dragon had been defeated, that you had come all this way and not even had to fight it.

 

“So,” Bombur said, and you turned slowly to face him. “You’re a lass?”

 

You pushed him sideways into a pile of gold.


End file.
